


home is a under a canvas sky

by Selenay



Series: home is under a canvas sky [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Circus Performer Phil Coulson, Glitter, M/M, Role Reversal, Romance, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who's the new guy?" Clint asked, trying to sound casual.</p>
<p>"His name's Phil," Natasha said. "He's our new knife throwing act."</p>
<p>"You didn't have an old knife throwing act."</p>
<p>"We did a few years ago. Knives and archery. It was a good act."</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is a under a canvas sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiddencait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/gifts).



> There are brief mentions of the fact that Phil's circus act is knife throwing, but no descriptions of the act or the knives or, actually, knives outside the context of the circus ring.
> 
> [chaneen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chaneen/pseuds/chaneen) beta'd this like a star, all remaining typos are my own. I couldn't resist the opportunity for another gratuitous usage of glitter on Clint, so I picked the circus AU option on my recipient's sign-up. Hope this is what you were looking for - even though I did go *slightly* over the minimum word count. Oops.

The circus rolled into town on a bright, warm Tuesday in the middle of June. Clint stood in the doorway of his diner to watch it parade down Main Street, just as he had every June for the last six years. A few performers recognised him and waved. He grinned and waved back, his smile widening when Natasha noticed him and rolled her eyes.

A platform had been installed on the top of her gaily painted wagon, surrounded by intricately wrought iron railings painted bright gold. Her hair caught the sunlight as she danced, turning it into a flaming red banner whipping behind her through every turn. A man Clint didn't recognise was driving in the open cab of the wagon. He almost looked too ordinary among the eye searing colours of the parade: he'd dressed in dark shirt and jeans and he wasn't wearing even a scrap of sparkle or glitter.

His ordinariness caught Clint's attention, and he stared at the man until the wagon hid him from view.

Even though it was the middle of the day and the school year wasn't over until the end of the week, the street was lined with people cheering for the arrival of the circus. It was a big deal around town, and everyone tried to be there when they arrived. Clint's diner had cleared out ten minutes ago, when word got around that the circus had been spotted on the outskirts of town getting ready for their big entrance.

As the last truck disappeared down the street, Clint turned and went back into the diner. By the time his customers took their seats again, he was in the kitchen rescuing a pie from the oven. Its crust was a little darker around the edges than he liked, but it wouldn't affect the taste. He was setting it to cool when he heard Meg's voice out front, flirting with a customer and talking him into the day's special. Thoughts of the circus melted away, chased out by the rhythm of cooking and serving.

***

"Uncle Clint, are you gonna take me to the circus?" Sophie asked.

She grinned up at him, revealing the gap where her first tooth had fallen out, and Clint ruffled her blonde hair fondly. He slid into the booth next to her so he could admire her latest crayon masterpiece, which turned out to be a brightly coloured circus tent. Shocking.

"We'll have to ask your mom," he said.

Sophie shrugged. "OK. Mom!"

Her voice carried throughout the diner, and Clint was grateful it was the pre-dinner lull so they only had a few customers. Most of them smiled tolerantly, although Mrs Kandowski frowned and sniffed pointedly. She didn't approve of Sophie spending so much time in the diner. Then again, she didn't approve of children in general, and Clint had never understood why she spent so much time in a diner where a kid was a permanent after school feature.

Meg looked up from her work behind the counter. There was a smear of purple frosting on her cheek. She set a freshly decorated cupcake onto the cake stand beside her. "Sophie, you shouldn't shout. It's not polite."

Sophie shrugged. "OK. Can Uncle Clint take me to the circus today?"

"It's a school night," Meg said, picking up another chocolate cupcake. "You know the rule."

"Aw, Mo-om."

Meg smiled. "They'll be here all week. Uncle Clint can take you on Friday, if you'll let me come too."

"I guess you can come," Sophie said grudgingly. "Can I get cotton candy?"

"Maybe."

Clint ruffled Sophie's hair again and stood up to stroll across the diner. He leaned against the counter, watching Meg pipe purple frosting onto the cupcake and dust something glittery over it.

"We're going to be circus themed all week, aren't we?" he asked, as she stuck a toothpick flag in the centre of the cupcake.

"Yup," Meg said. "If I have to listen to Sophie talk about circuses all week, you can live with a few reminders around here. I've put out the special menus already, and Harry's going to do the decorating after we close tonight. All you have to do is cook a few extra lasagnes and some extra pies."

"You say that like it's a really easy thing," Clint said. He reached out to steal a cupcake and Meg rapped his knuckles with a spoon. She hit hard and it stung, but he stole the cupcake anyway. "Maybe this year they won't want to use this place."

"And pigs might fly," Meg said. "Natasha sends them. You should go up and see her after the dinner rush is done."

"They'll still be setting up."

"Afraid they might ask you to help?"

Clint took a huge bite of cupcake so he didn't have to answer, and Meg snickered at him.

***

He didn't plan to go, no matter what Meg said, but Clint found himself driving over to the circus grounds after the dinner rush anyway. And because there was no such thing as idle hands on arrival day, he was hauling canvas and setting up signs five minutes after he got there. It was almost like he'd never left, except there were a few faces he didn't recognise. More than there were last year, and some familiar faces had gone, just like every year.

When he was finally released from his work, he found his way to Natasha's tent easily, even though the sun had set and most of the area was in darkness. It hadn't changed a bit since the last time he'd seen it; her bright wagon formed the back wall, and green and yellow canvas stretched out from it to make up the other walls and the ceiling. He scratched the flap, and her voice called out for him to enter.

Clint never asked how Natasha always knew it was him outside.

He ducked inside and slipped off his boots. The interior of the tent surprised people new to the circus. Natasha almost used it as a weapon; people expected them to be living in cramped squalor, and then they stepped into her office and the shock disarmed them. He'd watched her negotiate with town officials and sheriffs in here, who were so busy gaping around them that they almost forgot what they were there for. Usually they were there to warn her away or throw their weight around, so it was a good tactic.

Lanterns hung from the tent poles holding up the ceiling, their light warm and golden. Thick rugs softened the ground, and piles of cushions created comfortable places to sprawl. A folding desk and chair sat in the corner, and the Apple logo glowed on the back of Natasha's laptop.

None of it was surprising to Clint. The man sitting on a pile of cushions, that was what made Clint stumble and stare. It was the man from earlier, still wearing his dark shirt and jeans, and Clint somehow hadn't expected him to be here even though he must be close to Natasha if he was driving her wagon.

Natasha was sitting cross-legged beside him, an open bottle of vodka set in front of her. She raised an eyebrow and said, "I wondered how long it would take you this year."

The strange man said something too low for Clint to catch, before standing up with a polite nod to Natasha. He smiled pleasantly at Clint as he walked past, and Clint turned to watch him leave before he could stop himself.

Those dark jeans did some very good things to the man's rear profile, Clint's subconscious pointed out.

Natasha chuckled. "Subtle, Clint. You're very subtle."

Clint's ears were hot as he flopped down on the cushions next to her. They were warm already, and Clint remembered too late that the stranger had been sitting there only moments ago.

"Who's the new guy?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Natasha produced a shot glass from a jacket pocket. She poured vodka and handed it to him with a small smirk. "Which new guy? I've picked up a few since last year."

Clint knocked back the vodka and held out his glass for more. "Very funny."

"His name's Phil," Natasha said. "He's our new knife throwing act."

"You didn't have an old knife throwing act."

"We did a few years ago. Knives and archery. It was a good act."

Clint flipped her off. "Subtle, Tasha. Very subtle."

She toasted him with her glass. "He might actually be better than you with a knife in his hand. He isn't flashy like some people, but his skills almost make up for that. You should come and see him; I think you'll learn a thing or two."

"I'm bringing Sophie on Friday," Clint said, holding out his glass for more vodka. "Meg might come along, too."

"How are they?" Natasha asked, a softness entering her voice that hadn't been there earlier.

Clint smiled. "They're good. Sophie can't decide whether she wants to be an astronaut or a vet, so it looks like we'll have the first college graduate in the Barton family. Fuck, she'll be the first high school graduate in the family. She might be the only good thing Barney ever did."

"Do you have any pictures?"

It wasn't that Natasha was very interested in children, but Clint appreciated that she made the effort for him. He dug out his phone and showed her the latest photos, taken on a picnic a couple of months ago. Sophie's blonde hair and bright blue eyes were more like him than Barney, and Natasha's soft smile showed that she'd seen the resemblance.

"How is Meg?" Natasha asked without looking up from the phone.

"Good," Clint said. "Better. A lot better. She's kind of...happier, now that she knows Barney won't be coming back every few months to make everything complicated again. It's easier, I guess, not wondering when he'll show up next. The diner's doing great, and she's got this whole cupcake sideline going that's starting to take off. Don't be surprised if she shows up here some afternoon trying to sell them to you, by the way."

"I look forward to it," Natasha said. "I like cupcakes."

Clint reached out and poured himself another shot of vodka, while Natasha paged through the pictures on his phone. It was a comfortable silence, and the buzz of the alcohol was already making everything fuzzy around the edges.

He'd started to drift a little when Natasha turned off the phone and held it out. 

Her lips tilted into a wicked smile. "So, the new guy caught your eye. He's not your usual type."

Clint snorted and flipped her off. Again.

"You're drunk," Natasha said. "You should stay the night and drink more."

"That was kind of the plan I was hoping for."

"And then you can see the new guy in the morning. He's grumpy in a hilarious way before his first coffee."

"Fuck you, stop trying to set me up."

Natasha smiled primly. "I'm shocked that you think I'd try."

"Hmmf."

***

Natasha was right: the new guy--Phil, Clint reminded himself--was weirdly adorable before he had his first cup of coffee. Clint stood behind him in the line for the communal coffee station, and tried to pretend he wasn't looking. It was a lie, but Phil looked too sleep-addled to notice. He was wearing a battered old brown leather coat against the morning chill, wrapped up tight in it with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were barely open, and a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

Clint figured he had to be a contacts guy when he was more awake, because he'd shown no sign of being nearsighted yesterday. The leather jacket and glasses combination did something to the pit of Clint's stomach that he didn't want to think about yet. Not while a hangover was still pounding dully in his temples.

It had been a year since he'd last drunk that much. His vodka tolerance had gone to shit.

The line moved forward, and Phil was at the front now. The woman guarding the coffee had to know him pretty well; she filled a mug to the brim and put it in his reaching hands, waiting until his fingers closed around it before releasing it. Clint swallowed down a smile at the way it seemed to take a moment for Phil to realise he was finally in possession of some coffee. Yeah, Phil was definitely not a guy who functioned at all before his first caffeine hit of the day.

Even with his coffee in hand, Phil didn't seem aware of his surroundings. He just stood there, inhaling the bitter aroma of too strong coffee until Clint cleared his throat pointedly.

Phil's eyes flew open and he looked around, the mug tilting dangerously and threatening to dump half his coffee on the ground.

Clint couldn't help wondering what had kept Phil awake so late last night that he was this much of a mess this morning. Not that it was any of his business, obviously. What the new guy did in his own trailer on his own time had absolutely nothing to do with Clint.

Their gazes met and locked for a moment. Clint smiled. Phil's lips twitched as if he wanted to return it.

Coffee started to drip down the side of Phil's mug.

"You're kind of leaking," Clint said. He immediately wanted to slap a hand over his mouth.

Phil blinked, looked down, and muttered something under his breath. His hands tightened on the mug and he straightened it up. "Thanks."

Clint accepted a mug of coffee and moved out of the way of the impatient people behind him. He squeezed past Phil, who still didn't seem entirely awake, and began loading cream and sugar into his coffee. It disguised the slightly burnt taste that nobody had ever been able to eliminate from the communal pot.

He took a sip to check that it was right and winced at the taste, but it immediately seemed to make his headache ease off. "I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton."

Phil blinked at him over the rim of his mug, which he seemed to be determined to drain as fast as possible despite the scalding heat and foul taste.

"This is usually where you say hello," Clint said. "And then we talk about the weather or commiserate over Natasha's vodka or something."

"Hello," Phil said. At least his eyes seemed more alert now. "Phil. Coulson. I'm Phil Coulson."

"Yeah, Natasha told me last night. You're the new knife guy."

"You used to work here," Phil said. "Everyone's told me about you."

"Really?" Clint couldn't help puffing up a little. "All good shit, I hope?"

Phil shrugged. "That depends on your point of view."

"I'm not sure how to take that."

Phil hummed noncommittally and gulped down some more coffee. Clint tilted his head. He couldn't tell whether Phil was fucking with him, flirting with him, or maybe doing both at the same time. It was kind of weirdly hot.

"Natasha said I should see your act," Clint said.

"The circus could always use the revenue from another customer," Phil said with a completely straight face.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "I never have to pay."

"Really? Huh." Phil drained the last of his coffee. He looked wide awake now, and Clint noticed for the first time that he had very nice grey eyes. "I've got work to do, and Natasha told me you've got a diner to run. Won't the breakfast rush be missing you?"

"I've got guys who can handle it," Clint said, forcing himself to shrug casually instead of glaring at the dismissal. He wasn't even sure why it stung so much. "I'm on the lunch shift, though. If you get hungry."

"I usually stick to the cook tent," Phil said. "I hope to see you in the audience tonight, Mr Barton."

"Clint. Mr Barton is some other dude with grey hair and a bad back."

Phil's lips twitched again, as though he was fighting against a smile. "Goodbye, Mr Barton."

"See you later, Phil," Clint said with a smirk.

He tried not to watch Phil walk away, but it was a battle he lost almost immediately. The dark jeans really did do amazing things to his ass.

***

Getting the diner ready for all the extra trade from the circus was busy work, even though Clint and Meg had planned and prepared as much as possible in the previous weeks. At least it distracted him from his hangover until the last of it had faded away.

He was so completely focused on getting food ready and out of the kitchen that he forgot to keep an eye out for Phil until the middle of the afternoon.

Meg raised an eyebrow when he asked. "You think I remember everyone I served today?"

"Well, yeah," Clint said, sinking down into the booth opposite her with a large mug of coffee. "That's what you're good at."

"You did see how many people we served, right?" Meg said. "And that's not even counting the guy who picked up the box of lasagnes and pies for the cook tent."

"What did that guy look like?"

"Nothing like your guy," Meg said, "unless you left out some important details like the bright pink mohawk and multiple piercings."

"I didn't leave out that many details. And he's not 'my guy' or anything. I was just...showing an interest."

Meg snickered at him, but she didn't say anything else, because Sophie arrived at that moment in a flurry of blonde curls and excited flailing. Clint drained his coffee and stole a slice of pie out of one of the counter stands as he went back to the kitchen, leaving Meg to deal with her kid's new enthusiasm for macaroni crafts.

***

There was no sign of Phil at the dinner rush, either, which wasn't surprising. None of the circus folk showed their faces in the diner that late in the day, not when there was a performance to get ready for. Clint handed over his apron and spatula to Meg's evening crew when they arrived just after seven, and climbed into his car feeling like he'd been beaten with a two by four.

He turned on the engine, promising himself that he'd go straight home.

That was the sensible plan. That was what he should do. He was exhausted, it would be long day again tomorrow, and he didn't need to suffer through another vodka-induced hangover.

Except he found himself turning into the circus grounds a few minutes later, completely unaware of having made the decision to do it.

He drove slowly across the field where the trailers, wagons, and cars were parked, and pulled in next to Natasha's tent. The warm night air carried the sound of music and clapping to him as he crossed the uneven ground, and the smell of popcorn and sugar made his nose twitch.

One of the older guards recognised Clint as he approached the entrance to the big top, and he was allowed to quietly slip inside with a quick smile. Maisie was finishing her silks act as he took up a position in the back of the stalls. A few audience members looked back at him, standing as unobtrusively as he could, but Maisie was mesmerising and most people were too caught up in her act to notice him.

He couldn't blame them. There had been a few people who found her pretty damned mesmerising over the years, and not just when she was in the middle of a routine. Clint wondered who she was sharing a trailer with now. He'd lost track of the gossip since he last saw the circus, even though Natasha usually texted him at least once a day, no matter where they were.

The audience clapped and cheered as Maisie ran out of the ring, and the band played a brassy fanfare as the hands rolled the boards and tables on for the knife act. Clint hadn't intended to be here just in time for it, but apparently fate had decided he should be.

The man who walked into the ring had Phil's face, but there was something different about him. It wasn't the clothes, because the dark suit wasn't that different from the dark shirt and jeans.

Clint preferred the Phil who wore a battered leather coat and couldn't focus on anything before someone put coffee in his hand.

It definitely wasn't the clothes. There was something about the way that he carried himself that projected intense discomfort, with a hint of "don't look too closely" thrown in. Usually circus folk were all about flashy looks and pulling the audience's attention. That had always been Clint's gig when he was out there. Phil wasn't doing that. He seemed to move with unnatural stiffness compared to the loose, easy walk Clint had witnessed before. Even though the audience clapped politely, he didn't lift his head or acknowledge them in any way. He almost seemed to be trying to blend into the shadows at the edge of the ring. If Clint hadn't met him outside the big top already, he might not have been able to pick him out of a crowd later.

His knife act wasn't bad, though. As Natasha had promised, he had skills, and he was using them to good effect. Clint got the impression that he was holding back, keeping the act simpler than it could have been, but he thought only another knife guy would notice. And after seeing how uncomfortable he was with the audience, Clint could understand. Keep it simple, and reduce the chance of the whole thing falling apart if he made a mistake.

Clint recognised Phil's assistant: she'd been a new hire a couple of years before he left. She was good at the job, but she didn't have any flair to her performance. Usually she was part of the ribbon dance act, where she could blend in with the other women and it didn't matter that she was merely competent rather than spectacular. The final part of the routine was always the showiest trick, and for it she flipped and cartwheeled across the ring in front of a board while Phil outlined her progress with his knives.

If Clint had been out there, he would have had some ribbons floating behind him for Phil to catch and pin to the board, just to add a bit of sparkle to the performance.

Clint shut that thought down before it could form. He had no intention of getting pulled back into the circus and its world. All of his responsibilities were here in this town.

The act ended to applause, although it wasn't as enthusiastic as Maisie's had been, and Phil was replaced with another act Clint hadn't seen before. The dogs were the best trained Clint had seen for a long time, and he ended up laughing at their antics. He made a mental note to check with Natasha about their trainer--he'd seen a few cruel trainers, but first impressions made him think this one wasn't--and settled to enjoy the rest of the show.

***

Clint had been waiting in Natasha's tent for a while by the time she arrived from the big top. He was probably one of the few people who could get into it without setting off her security precautions.

Actually, he might be the only person. He wasn't sure anymore--someone else might have been brought into her inner circle in the last year--but she didn't trust easily and having the keys to her home was the biggest sign of trust she gave.

Natasha's hair was still caught up in the tight bun she wore on stage, but she'd changed into a loose hoodie and jeans. Glitter sparkled in her hair and around her eyes, and she hadn't removed the deep red paint on her lips yet.

"See anything you liked?" she asked, as she folded down next to him on a pile of cushions. "You missed the new contortionist routine."

"The dogs were good," Clint said. "What's their trainer like?"

Natasha produced a bottle and glasses from somewhere under her cushions. "Their trainer is good to his dogs."

"That's good."

"Uh huh."

Clint shook his head when Natasha nudged the vodka towards him. "I'm on the breakfast shift. Can't spend the night."

Natasha shrugged and poured herself a shot. "Too bad. So, the dogs were the only thing you noticed?"

"Was there something else you wanted me to notice?"

"You're a terrible person."

"You've known that for years." Clint grinned when she muttered something foul in Russian. "Okay, okay, I took a look at Phil's act. You're right, he's got some skills. It's not a bad act. Not very flashy, could use some extra punch, but it's not bad."

"That's the problem," Natasha said. "He's not actually bad, but he's not great either. I can see the potential there, and he was amazing when I tried him out last fall. He's just not keeping the audience's attention, and I can't keep hoping he'll turn it around for much longer."

"You don't want to tell him to take a hike," Clint said thoughtfully. "What's wrong? You've never been shy about canning someone who's not working out."

"I've just got a feeling about him," Natasha said, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "He needs this job, more than the usual people we get."

"You're going soft in your..." Clint quickly revised his sentence. "In your young and beautiful youth."

Natasha smiled and patted his arm fondly. "Nicely saved. So, if you were going to punch up his knife work, what would you do?"

Clint closed his eyes and thought for a while, trying to replay everything he remembered of Phil's time in the ring.

"I'd change the costume," he said slowly. "Something brighter, with a little more flash."

"He'd never agree to that."

"Yeah, I kind of got that." He opened his eyes. "Then find him a better assistant. A real partner. He needs someone to make the audience look, and we both know Helen's got the personality of a wet cardboard box. She's great in the middle of a group, but not for this."

Natasha nodded and sipped her vodka.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, no. Not me."

"I never said a word."

"You didn't have to." He glared at her, but it had no effect. Her mild smile didn't dislodge. "I'd give him some trickier shots. He's running through the basics, but he's better than that. Put some streamers on his partner that Phil has to pin. Get him working with more moving targets, maybe set up something where he's working against the clock. Or have his partner doing more than just setting up targets. Make it a real partnership."

"You'd need someone who can actually match him for knife work," Natasha said. "We don't have anyone."

"There's you."

"That wouldn't work," Natasha said quickly. Too quickly.

"Why--"

Clint broke off as someone cleared their throat loudly outside the tent. He caught Natasha's tiny smirk before she could completely hide it, so it wasn't a surprise when Phil ducked through the tent flap. His hair was still damp and it stood up in fluffy tufts.

It was a really good look for him, particularly now that he was back in his battered leather jacket and glasses.

Clint mentally slapped himself.

"Am I interrupting?" Phil asked. He held out a steaming mug. "I brought tea."

There were only two mugs, and Clint felt a momentary pang of regret. Someone else had replaced him as Natasha's post-show confidant.

Natasha smiled serenely. "We were just discussing when Clint's going to work with you on the knife act."

"Wait, what?" Clint yelped. "I didn't agree--" He broke off and rubbed his ribs where Natasha had sneakily pinched him. 

Phil lifted an eyebrow, and Clint felt himself blushing. Like a teenager with his first crush, dammit.

"I could use a few suggestions," Phil said. 

He sounded weirdly cautious, and there was such a carefully neutral expression in his eyes that Clint suddenly couldn't think of a single good reason not to help. 

"I can get someone to cover the afternoon shift at the diner," Clint said. "Is two thirty okay for you?"

A small smile made the crow's feet at the corners of Phil's eyes crinkle, and all the air left Clint's lungs in a rush.

Oh. Fuck.

"That would be perfect," Phil said. "I've heard a lot about what you can do."

Clint stood up so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. The smile and the sincerity in Phil's voice were doing things to him, sending warmth curling in his gut, and he needed to get out. He needed to go home, take a cold shower, and build up some resistance overnight to Phil and his...everything.

"I need to, uh--" he stumbled backwards towards the tent flap, gesturing vaguely to where his car was parked. "Early breakfast shift. You know?"

Natasha leaned around Phil's legs to give Clint a knowing smile and a small wave. The only reason Clint didn't flip her off was because Phil had turned to watch his inelegant escape, and he didn't want Phil to think the gesture was aimed at him.

"Goodnight," Clint said.

And he fled into the night as fast as he could.

***

Meg was suspiciously eager to get someone in to cover the afternoon shift in the kitchen when Clint explained what he was doing. Any hopes he'd harboured that maybe he could claim the diner couldn't do without him died as soon as the pleased grin appeared on her face.

"I'll call Jackie," Meg said happily. "She's been asking for overtime. Are you sure you can stay for the lunch rush? I could--"

"No!" Clint said quickly, before Meg could try to send him up to the circus grounds for the entire day. "I'll cover lunch. They really don't need me until the afternoon. You know what circus folk are like."

Meg lifted an eyebrow. "From what you've told me, they're not exactly the sleeping 'til noon types."

"Yeah, but they've all got stuff to do in the morning," Clint said, making a complicated gesture that he kind of lost control of part way through. "You know, circus stuff."

"Circus stuff. Right."

The bell over the door dinged, and Clint looked at her pointedly. "Shouldn't you get that?"

She gave him one of her "I'm onto you" looks--one of the ones she usually reserved for Sophie, dammit--but she hurried back to the counter anyway.

If he was honest with himself, Clint didn't know why he was feeling so reluctant. It wasn't as though Natasha was going to kidnap him and force him into indentured servitude as the circus archer. She'd allowed him to walk away years ago, with no question about how long he'd be gone. The annual visit had always been easy to handle, and she'd never outright asked him to come back. If she had, Clint wouldn't have thought twice about saying no and pointing out that he had a life here. He had responsibilities, people who needed him, and that was worth more than anything the circus cold provide.

Except this year, something felt different.

Clint forced himself to put his focus back on the omelette he was trying to craft. It was less disturbing to focus on what was right in front of him, instead of trying to puzzle out the nebulous mess of his feelings.

***

Obviously, it was just good manners that had Clint making time to shower and change into cleaner--nicer--clothes on his way to the circus. It had nothing to do with wanting to make a good impression.

Or not wanting to make Phil to recoil in horror at his sweaty stink if they got up close and personal in any way.

Not that Clint planned to get up close and personal. Nope, he was just going to be giving Phil a few pointers, a few ideas on how he could punch up his act a bit. That was all. There was definitely not going to be anything else going on.

He tried not to think about the old practice bow and quiver he'd thrown in the trunk before he left. There was a really good explanation for that. He'd find it eventually.

Phil must have been watching for him, because he was walking towards the car as Clint pulled in by Natasha's wagon. There was a pleased smile curving Phil's lips, crinkling those damned crow's feet, and Clint found he was smiling back before he could stop himself.

Yeah, staying cool and detached was going so well already.

"We've got the big top for three hours," Phil said as Clint climbed out of the car. "I wasn't sure how long this would take, but the trapeze guys wanted some practice time after us, so I thought we could set up outside if we haven't finished in time."

"I can work with three hours," Clint said lightly. "I'm just giving you some pointers, right?"

"Right."

Clint hesitated, thinking about the bow in the trunk. It wouldn't hurt anything if he brought it inside, would it? Phil probably wouldn't even notice it was there. He was already walking towards the tent, and Clint realised a moment too late that he was staring again.

He made himself turn away and get the bow out of the car.

When he got inside the tent, Phil was standing by a table at the edge of the ring, sighting down the blade of a knife as if he was looking for an imperfection. Clint set his bow across some seats just behind the barrier and watched him for a minute. Phil put down the knife and picked up another, examining it carefully before putting it down and nudging it to line up perfectly with the rest.

The realisation that Phil seemed nervous hit Clint like a punch to the stomach. He'd been so caught up in his own shit, that it hadn't occurred to him that Phil might be feeling anything about this.

The former star of the circus had come in to tear his act apart and explain all the ways it wasn't working; of course Phil was unsettled. He had to know that there was a problem with his act, and Natasha had brought in the Amazing Hawkeye. Clint could have slapped himself.

"This is your first circus, right?" Clint asked, as he walked across the ring. "Your first show, first time on the road, the whole thing?"

Phil's shoulders slumped. "It's that obvious?"

Clint shrugged. "Pretty much. I don't mean that in a bad way, though."

"It's hard to see how it's a compliment." Phil's lips pulled down and he sighed. "I should have known this was a bad idea."

That unhappy expression, and the defeat in his posture, pulled at something inside Clint's chest. He had to stuff his hands in his pockets so he didn't give in to the urge to reach out and wrap Phil up in a hug. The temptation to climb Phil like a tree had been there since he'd first met the guy, but this? This was new.

Clint wasn't sure he liked it. Wanting to comfort Phil for reasons beyond just getting into his pants could be a problem if he wasn't careful.

He nodded to the prop table. "You're good at this shit. Trust me on this. Natasha wouldn't have taken a chance on you if you weren't. But you're not a showman; you don't have that kind of training yet. You need to sell the knife act to them, and right now you're not."

Phil's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So I'm boring, but competent. I'm not sure that's making me feel any better."

"Fuck no, you're not boring," Clint exclaimed. "You got my attention the first time I met you. It's like your personality evaporates the moment you hit the ring." He paused and examined the words. "Wait, no, that sounded better in my head."

For the first time since they'd entered the tent, Phil's expression lightened. He even chuckled. "I caught your attention?"

Clint could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but he refused to look away. He tilted his chin up instead, and said, "Yeah. You did."

A tiny, pleased smile lifted the corners of Phil's mouth. That something so small could make the air catch in Clint's throat like that seemed ridiculous, but it did. He had to take a moment to remember how to breathe and what they'd even been talking about.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "We need to work on getting that into your stage presence."

"You mean, we need to work on me having any stage presence at all," Phil said.

"Yeah, that too." Clint flashed him a quick grin, and he was relieved to see that Phil didn't look depressed again. He looked thoughtful, which shouldn't have made Clint's mouth dry up, but apparently there was going to be nothing normal about Clint's reactions anymore. "I told Natasha that you need a new assistant. Someone with some flash, who can be more of a partner for you. That'll help, if she can find anyone."

"And for everything else?"

"Let's see what you've really got," Clint said, tapping the prop table. "Up the difficulty level some. How do you feel about moving targets? Not hitting your partner while she's cartwheeling is great, but hitting something that's moving is a whole different ballgame. I've got a few other ideas."

"I could probably do it," Phil said. "I'm open to some suggestions."

***

Phil turned out to be willing to try anything Clint suggested, and he was a quick study. He missed the swinging hoop Clint set up the first time, his knife catching the edge and sending it spinning, but he caught the trick of it quickly. There was nothing he wouldn't try, and after a while he even looked like he was enjoying the challenges.

Clint tried very, very hard not to think about Phil's willingness to try things and how that could transfer to other situations.

He mostly failed.

It was probably a good thing he spent so much time moving targets around and clambering overhead to hang them in new and interesting places. At least all the activity kept his body from trying to be too needy and reactive.

After a couple of hours, Clint felt pretty good about what they'd done. Of course, there was no guarantee that Phil wouldn't stiffen up and lose his personality in the ring again. But if he could be the Phil that Clint worked with that afternoon, the audience wouldn't be able to take their eyes off him. Clint didn't think he was being particularly biased when he said that out loud, either.

Phil's ears turned pink, which shouldn't have been adorable. Guys weren't supposed to be adorable. They were supposed to be tough, cool, maybe sexy and brooding. Not kind of sweet, with a tendency to blush when complimented, and a habit of being easily confused before their first coffee of the morning.

Although, Phil wasn't exactly not-sexy either.

Clint cut that thought off before it could take root. It wasn't somewhere he thought was safe to go.

He dropped lightly to the ground and strolled across the ring to where Phil was holding out a bottle of water he'd pulled out of a cooler under the table. It was surprisingly thirsty work, teaching someone how to be a showman, and Clint drained most of the bottle in one long gulp.

He thought Phil's ears had gone an even darker shade of red when he lowered the bottle, but Phil wasn't looking at him. In fact, he was looking out at the seats beyond the barrier.

"Did you bring your bow?" Phil asked.

"Just an old practice one," Clint said, keeping his voice as light as he could. "She's not up to much anymore."

"Do you still have the one from your posters?"

"You've seen my posters?"

Phil shrugged. "Natasha showed them to me. You were very...sparkly."

"There's nothing wrong with a little glitter," Clint said severely. "Catches the eye, you know? If you'd just let me have ten minutes with your suit..."

"No," Phil said, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm not a glitter and sequins kind of man."

"You'd look great, promise."

"Did you plan to give me a demonstration?"

Clint choked on his own saliva. "Of my old costume?"

"Of your shooting," Phil said. "Although if you really want to show off your old costume, I wouldn't say no either."

There was a playful expression in Phil's eyes, and Clint couldn't decide if he was teasing, or if he genuinely wanted to see Clint in the old outfit. What was worse, Clint was half-tempted to dig it out, just to see how Phil reacted to it.

"Maybe another time," Clint said, and Phil rolled his eyes. "Pretty sure it got passed to someone else or burned about ten minutes after I left, so you're probably out of luck."

"I can keep hoping," Phil said.

That was definitely unfair, because now Clint really wanted to find it. Just to see whether Phil kept the half-amused smile on his face after he'd been exposed to the fully sparkling, shimmering effect. Clint saluted him with his bottle, and drained it before vaulting the barrier to grab his bow. It only took a minute to string it, and he'd never been in the habit of putting on sights or stabilising rods. Shooting bare bow was the only way to do some of the more athletic stunts he'd tried over the years. He slung the quiver over his shoulders and jogged to the other side of the ring to take up a stance across the ring from one of Phil's targets.

Putting three arrows dead centre was a piece of cake, but from the low whistle he made, Phil seemed impressed.

Clint grinned. "Yeah, that's nothing. I used to hang upside down and do this, back in the old days. I never miss."

"You've stayed in practice," Phil said.

"Figured it was stupid to let the skills go rusty. I mean, you never know when you might need it, right?"

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you leave?" Phil asked. "You seem to enjoy the work."

"Nat never told you?" Clint considered buying himself some thinking time by fetching his arrows, but Phil looked genuinely interested, and somehow he found himself talking before he knew what he was going to say. "A few years ago, we played here for a couple of nights. My brother lives here, so I figured I'd look him up and say hi. See how he was, all that shit. We weren't exactly close, but you gotta look up family when you can, you know?"

Phil nodded encouragingly, but he didn't say anything and Clint was grateful.

"I drove out to his last address," Clint continued, "and knocked at the door and this lady answers. Really pretty, with a really pretty baby in her arms, and she doesn't know where Barney is because he left town just before the baby was born. It wasn't the first time he got scared and ran off, but this time she was done with him because he'd racked up a pile of debts and left her with a run-down diner, no money, and a baby."

"He sounds...unpleasant."

"He's a dick," Clint said. "He's not a bad person, he's just a dick. There's a whole ton of shit we went through when we were kids, and maybe that's why he turned out like that, but he doesn't get to use that as an excuse."

"So you stayed."

"Just because my brother's a dick, doesn't mean I have to be on, too. I stayed. Helped her get the diner running again, and helped out with Sophie as much as I could. At least there's one Barton who didn't run out on her."

"Do you miss it?" Phil asked.

Clint rubbed at a scrape on the bow's limb. "Most of the time, no. No, I don't."

"And the rest of the time?"

He looked back at the target, avoiding Phil's eyes. "We've only got another half hour before they'll need the big top back. Want to try hitting my arrows when I shoot?"

There was a long pause before he heard Phil pick up a knife and say, "We can do that."

***

Clint released his last arrow, and felt a hard thrill of satisfaction when Phil's knife caught the short tail of sparkling ribbon he'd attached, and pinned it to a board.

Yeah, it was ridiculous and showy, but it would look _great_ in the ring.

He whooped happily, while Phil's small smile finally widened into a broad grin, and it was the best feeling in the world. Even the satisfaction of placing a perfect bunch of arrows in the centre of a target couldn't beat the joy of working with someone and getting it right at last.

The sound of someone clapping up in the stands pulled him up, and he turned, trying to peer into the darkness to see who had been watching them.

"You should put that into your show tomorrow night." Natasha's voice floated out, tinged with amusement. "Unless you can't replicate it?"

"We can replicate it," Clint said. A moment later, his mind caught up with the rest of her words. "Wait, show? Tomorrow?"

At the same time, Phil said, "It's not ready yet; we're still working out some problems."

Natasha hopped the barrier and walked across the ring. There was a smug smile twitching at the corners of her mouth that made Clint's stomach drop.

"I've been watching you for the last fifteen minutes," she said. "I think you could do it with a little more practice. Maybe you could leave that trick out, if you're not happy with it yet, but everything else I've seen looks great."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest. "No. This was just...this was...we were just messing around."

"You haven't lost your skills," Natasha said. "And you did say that Phil needs a different partner. Why not?"

"Why not? Because...because..."

"Exactly," Natasha said. "There's no good reason."

"I'm working."

"You were going to bring Sophie, so you weren't working. And she'll love seeing her Uncle Clint perform."

"Natasha."

She rolled her eyes. "Clint."

"Don't I have a say in this?" Phil asked mildly. For a moment, Clint's hopes rose, but then Phil added, "I think Natasha's right. We could just try it for one night."

"I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

"I didn't know there were sides."

"Great, then it's settled," Natasha said, her smile turning into a triumphant smirk. "You two will be our big closing act for the next two nights. I'll move the running order around and push you to the end."

"Wait, no, I didn't agree to this!" Clint protested.

"I've already got the new posters printed," Natasha said. "I can have them all over town in an hour."

Phil shrugged. "I don't think we have any choice."

"Why do I feel like I've just been press ganged?" Clint asked.

Natasha patted his cheek fondly. He batted her hand away, but Phil looked pleased and Clint knew that he'd lost the battle long before he even knew he was in one.

***

Meg didn't let Clint get out of performing, either. She was both awesome and terrible like that.

"It's only for a couple of nights," she said, as she served out left-over lasagne in the kitchen at home. "And Sophie will love seeing you up there. She's seen the old posters--"

"You have my poster, too?"

"--and she's been asking me why you aren't The Amazing Hawkeye anymore for years."

Clint put the salad bowl down in front of Sophie, who promptly stole a handful of spinach leaves and three olives. Weird kid.

"Please say you'll do it," Sophie said through a mouthful of greens. "Pleeeeeease, Uncle Clint."

Meg used her waitressing superpowers to carry three plates and a basket of garlic bread to the table without dropping anything. "Didn't I say she wants to see you perform?"

"I'm not a part of that world anymore," Clint said, stealing four slices of garlic bread just to be obnoxious. Sophie stole two and Meg glared at both of them. "I got railroaded. Press ganged. Scre--" He caught Meg's scowl and hastily revised his sentence. "Tricked."

"You were going to say 'screwed'," Sophie said. "What's press ganging?"

After that, all of Clint's attempts to protest further were swept away in an impromptu history lesson that ended up with all three of them munching garlic bread while they crowded around Wikipedia on Meg's laptop. Clint went out to his trailer in the backyard later that night not sure how he felt about anything anymore.

There was a text waiting on his phone from Natasha, showing the posters she designed plastered all over the diner door. He sent back a quick "Hate you so much right now" and went to sleep.

***

Clint headed over to the circus grounds as soon as the breakfast rush finished clearing out. He'd started to make excuses about prepping for the lunch rush and the vats of chili for the circus, but Meg had already called in extra staff and she snatched a spatula away from him before he could get further than opening his mouth.

The big top was brightly lit when he arrived. Everything was in place down in the ring, and Phil was leaning against the prop table, hands wrapped around a huge mug of coffee. He didn't have that sleepy, slightly fuzzy around the edges vibe Clint had seen before, but he was clearly still highly focused on maximising his caffeine levels.

"I was worried you might not be here," Phil said, as Clint hopped the barrier. "You didn't seem happy yesterday."

Clint set down his bow case, and Phil nudged a second cup of coffee towards him. The coffee was exactly the way he liked it, sweet and creamy to disguise the burnt taste. Sipping it put more warmth into his chest than a lukewarm cup of coffee could account for.

"I'm not really a part of this anymore," Clint said, waving a hand around the ring. "Natasha caught me off-guard."

"But you're here."

"Yeah. I'm a sucker for a pretty pair of eyes." He grinned. "I mean Sophie's, obviously."

Phil's ears turned pink again, and Clint had the sudden urge to lean over and kiss him. Just to see whether he could make Phil blush some more, because he had a feeling that with the right motivation, Phil could be a full-body blusher. The air seemed to get thicker, harder to breathe, and his mouth was too dry despite the coffee. He moistened his lips, and Phil's eyes dropped to his mouth for a moment. Clint almost thought he'd imagined the reaction, until Phil's tongue swept over his lips and his eyes lifted and...

Something fell outside with a loud, metallic clatter, and Clint jumped, startled.

His heart was beating too fast and he couldn't quite look Phil in the eye. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. "We should decide which tricks we'll be doing and figure out an order for them. Then maybe run through everything a couple of times; make sure we're really solid on everything. Okay?"

Phil nodded slowly. "That's a plan I can work with."

"Great." Clint tried not to wince at how loud and fake his voice sounded. "That's great. Let's do this."

Working out the routine and running through it took Clint's mind completely off any thoughts of Phil's eyes, Phil's lips, and kissing those lips. He was mostly able to ignore Phil's broad shoulders, until Phil stripped off his leather jacket and Clint got distracted for a minute by the play of muscle under his t-shirt. He made up something about a bee when his arrow went wild and clanged off the metal ring they were both aiming through.

At least Phil's performance costume was a black suit, so there would be no distracting bunching of muscles over his shoulders tonight.

They were writing down the running order, Phil visibly trying to fight down a smile at Clint's ridiculous trick names, when Natasha appeared at the performers' entrance. "Are you two done yet?"

Clint exchanged a glance with Phil. "Pretty much. Need the space?"

Natasha grinned. "I need you for a fitting. Amy's been working on your costume all morning."

"I have a costume," Clint said.

"You have your old costume. The lycra's probably rotten by now. That thing was looking shabby before you left; it probably looks like crap now." There was definitely a hint of wickedness in Natasha's smile. "We've got something new for you, and Amy needs to do the adjustments. Come on."

"Why am I really worried now?"

"Because you're a deeply suspicious man."

Phil shrugged. "I can finish this. Your costume is more important that deciding what to call the thing with the fire hoop."

"Ring of Fire, it's a classic," Clint insisted.

"Whatever you say."

***

Fitting and finishing the costume took the rest of the afternoon, and Amy was still sewing the last few sequins on his shirt when the music for the first act floated across the circus grounds. Her trailer was too cluttered to pace in, so Clint had to sit on the too-narrow couch while she worked. He was bare chested and he couldn't sit still, so the scratchy fabric irritated his back as he fidgeted, and she kept shooting him glares when his foot tapping got too loud. At least she'd put finishing the pants at the top of her priority list. He'd performed shirtless a few times, but going out into the ring without his pants would be an issue.

There had been a few moments during practice when Clint had felt the seams of his jeans pulling too tight. Risking a performance where his pants might tear at a bad moment was not high on his list of things to do. Not when Sophie was out there somewhere, small and innocent and definitely not ready to see her uncle's ass through ripped denim.

Clint could track the progress of the performance by the musical cues, drifting in on the breeze through the window. He was ready to go as soon the last piece of his costume was finished. His hair was stiff with glittery gel, there was more glitter dusting his face and chest, and Natasha had forced him to sit still while she attacked him with eyeliner. A knot in his stomach tightened with each new tune, but Amy sewed on, her needle flashing almost as brightly as the purple sequins.

Eventually, she shook out the shirt and held it up. "Try this on."

Clint shot her a dirty look, but he took it anyway. "It didn't change sizes while you were adding sparkle. It'll be fine."

Her eyes were sharp and critical as he fastened the three buttons near the bottom of the shirt. It gaped to leave most of his chest bare every time he moved, because apparently Natasha had decided that sparkly sexy was his look this time. Amy gestured for him to flex and turn a couple of times, and her lips pursed.

"It still looks too tight across the shoulders," she said. "I should--"

"It's fine," Clint said. "Trust me, I've done this before. I know what it feels like when the fabric's not going to hold. There's more than enough give in it for what I'll be doing."

"I'll want it back after you're done," she said. "I can make some adjustments before your next show."

"It only has to survive tonight and tomorrow. It'll be fine."

Amy made a small sound at the back of her throat, as though she was choking down something else. Clint almost stopped to ask her what she was laughing at, but there wasn't time. All he could do was shoot her a glare and grab his bow, before running out of the trailer and across the grounds.

He'd expected to see Phil inside the dressing tent, waiting by the entrance to the big top. They only had a few minutes before their cue to go on, and Phil seemed like the kind of guy who waited by the flap.

Instead, he was standing outside the entrance to the dressing tent, pacing up and down. The sun was low on the horizon and his suit was so dark that he almost blended in with the shadows. Clint slowed down and stopped, waiting for Phil to make a turn at the top of his circuit and see him.

"Worried about me?" Clint asked.

Phil paced slowly towards him. "No. I knew you'd be here. You look very, ah, glittery."

Clint couldn't help preening a little at the attention, and the appreciative look in Phil's eyes. He smiled until he noticed the lines of strain around Phil's mouth. "You don't look like a guy who's brim-full of confidence and ready to get into the ring."

Phi's hesitation between one step and the next was so slight that it probably wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone except Clint. He didn't say anything else, but Clint caught his breath as he started to understand. When Phil stopped moving forward, they were standing too close together, but Clint refused to take a step back. It felt like a challenge, an attempt to distract him from the more important problem.

"Do you have stage fright?" Clint asked. "Is that why you're all...stiff and weird in the ring?"

There was a long pause. Phil's shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. "Performing like this doesn't come naturally to me."

"You were great when we were practicing earlier."

"It was just us then," Phil said quietly. "It's different when hundreds of people are watching."

Clint cocked his head. "If performing in front of people is making you so nervous, why'd you join a circus?"

"A friend has a strange sense of humour," Phil said, so low he was barely audible. He rolled his shoulders, as if he was trying to force the tension out of them. "I'm told it gets easier with practice."

"But it's not."

Phil shrugged.

"And you do this every night?" Clint waved a hand, taking in the tent and Phi's pacing circuit. "You walk up and down, getting yourself even more wound up until you're completely terrified when you walk out there?"

"When you put it like that, it does sound bad," Phil admitted.

"Yeah." Clint thought for a moment. He had an idea, but it was probably a terrible one. His ideas usually were. Except, however badly it turned out, at least it would distract Phil from his current spiral into debilitating stage fright. That had to be worth a shot. "I'm going to try something. Do you trust me?"

Phil didn't pause before saying, "Yes."

So Clint kissed him.

It was a firm press of lips, a hint of tongue when Phil's mouth opened on a gasp, and it had Clint's heart racing when he pulled away.

Phil's eyes were closed, and Clint almost leaned in for another kiss because the first one had been pretty fucking amazing. But the music changed tempo, and his mental clock gave them thirty seconds to be in place to make their big entrance. Natasha would kill him if they missed their cue because he got lost in kissing her star knife thrower.

"We should go," he said quietly.

Phil looked dazed when he opened his eyes. "You kissed me."

"Yeah. We can talk about it later? We're on in fifteen."

"Seconds? Shit."

Clint grinned as he followed Phil through the dressing tent. There wasn't a hint of the nervous agitation in the way he moved, and they cut it so close that they didn't have to wait at the flap. They passed the clowns on their way into the ring, and the familiar sound of an audience clapping and stamping sent a thrill of excitement down Clint's spine.

He could almost feel the energy in the big top. It pressed against his skin, waking up a dozen impulses he'd thought were dead years ago. Clint waved to the audience, and the cheering grew louder before abruptly cutting off as the lights went dark for a moment. A single spotlight picked out Phil and they began their act.

***

The exhilaration of performing, hearing the cheers and flying through the air, was still thrumming in Clint's veins as he stepped out into the night. Chilly air hit his body, cooling the sweat dampening his clothes too fast. Goose bumps prickled his skin and he shivered, but he felt alive and full for the first time in years. Nothing could be better than the post-show high.

Nothing, except warm, broad hands catching him by the arm and pulling him away from the rest of the performers.

Those hands settled on his waist, and Clint grinned at the bright, elated look he caught in Phil's eyes before they stepped back into the shadows. 

"Is this what it's always like for you?" Phil asked.

"Performing?" Clint grinned. "Fuck, yes. It's how performing _should_ feel if you're going to stick with it. That whole synergy with the audience crap Natasha talks about, that buzzing in your veins, that's why we keep doing it."

"You missed it," Phil said.

Clint shrugged, even though Phil probably couldn't see. "I guess. Yeah, a little."

"I can see why. It could be addictive."

"It's one of the best highs in the world."

He heard the slow, deep breath Phil took. Felt it in the way Phil's chest moved against his, and he hadn't realised they were standing so close until then. He wondered if Phil was aware of how close they were, but Phil's hands were still on his waist, so he had to be.

"You said we'd talk about the kiss later," Phil said, sounding awkward and uncertain. "It's later."

"Did you hate it?"

"No."

"Want to try it again?"

There was the briefest of pauses, not even long enough for Clint to start backing away, before Phil said, "Yes."

His voice was soft and low, almost breathless, and Clint sucked in a quick gulp of air, because he'd never heard anyone sound like that before he kissed them. It was like a punch to the gut, how much he wanted Phil in that moment, and he couldn't have resisted the temptation to kiss him if he'd tried.

Phil's lips parted almost as soon as Clint's touched them, and the kiss turned deep and filthy immediately. He wrapped his arms around Phil, pulling him closer, and Phil's fingers tightened on his hips convulsively. They traded control back and forth, giving and taking in equal measure. Clint could have kept going forever. Phil tasted of coffee and warmth, and he couldn't get enough of the soft sounds Phil made.

Except it had to end, kisses always do, although he would have preferred it if they hadn't been disturbed by Natasha wolf-whistling as she sashayed past.

"Don't break my knife thrower," she said over her shoulder, before disappearing into the darkness.

Clint licked his lips, only now aware that his hands had somehow migrated to the back of Phil's head, and one of Phil's hands was definitely on his ass. He tried to smirk, but he suspected that it came out lop-sided and a little goofy. It was probably a good thing the shadows hid it.

"We should..." he tried, and broke off.

"We could, if you want," Phil said.

"I want, I really want," Clint said. He paused and frowned. "We're talking about sex, right? You're inviting me back to your trailer for sex."

Phil's tone was dry when he said, "No, I was inviting you back to my trailer for a soothing cup of tea and a cuddle."

"Oh, fuck, please say you're joking," Clint said.

Phil kissed him this time, grinding a promisingly firm bulge against Clint's hip, and tugging lightly at Clint's lower lip with his teeth as he pulled back.

"How far is it to your trailer?" Clint asked, trying to suppress a whimper.

"Closer than your...wherever you live," Phil said. "Where do you live?"

"In Meg's backyard," Clint said. "Your trailer is definitely closer."

"A lot closer."

"Yeah."

They didn't quite run across the circus grounds, but that was only because Clint kept tugging Phil into shadowed spots to kiss him some more. He told himself that it was just about keeping Phil interested, and ignored the part where he practically dry-humped Phil's leg a few yards from his door, only stopping because someone let off a fire cracker in the distance.

He was too busy pulling at clothes and stumbling to the bed to take in any details about Phil's trailer. His entire focus had narrowed to Phil and the amazing things he was doing with his hands and tongue, and that really was the best high in the world.

***

Keeping any kind of hook-up secret in a circus was pretty near impossible. Clint knew that, had known it for most of his life, and he was still surprised at the grins and winks he received while he waited in the coffee line.

Maybe if he'd tried a little harder not to be so vocal, it might have stayed quiet for longer.

Except he was wearing his costume pants and a grey hoodie with a Captain America shield on the back, and his hair was still full of glitter, which made it pretty damn obvious where he'd spent the night. His regular clothes were still somewhere in Amy's trailer, and she'd hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on her door, so he couldn't get them back yet.

The woman serving coffee handed him two mugs without asking, one full to the brim and the other with room for his usual heavy dose of cream and sugar. Clint hoped Phil wouldn't mind everyone knowing who he'd slept with.

He kept his head down as he hurried back to Phil's trailer. His route took him past Natasha's tent, where she was already sitting in a deck chair outside with a steaming cup between her hands. To his relief, she just nodded at him as he went past. He didn't think he could face her teasing, or worse, her triumphant gloating about setting them up.

Phil was exactly where Clint had left him: curled on his side, a bare shoulder showing just above the covers. Clint paused to just look at him for a moment, trying to burn the image into his mind. If his phone hadn't been in his pants in Amy's trailer, he might have considered snapping a photo, so he'd have a tangible reminder of one of the best nights in recent memory. It was silly and maybe a little sappy, but Clint kind of liked the idea of being able to pull out his phone in a month to check that this had really happened.

He closed the trailer door behind him and crossed to the bed, setting the mugs on an overhead shelf. The trailer was small and cramped, half the size of his own, and he recognised it as one that Natasha kept for temporary performers.

Phil stirred when Clint sat down on the edge of the bed, rolling onto his back and blinking sleepily. There were traces of glitter on his face and smeared across his collarbone. It seemed to take a minute for him to figure out where he was and why Clint was there, and then a soft smile lit up his face.

"You're still here," he said. His voice was scratchy, and he sounded surprised.

"Where did you think I'd go?" Clint asked.

Phil shrugged one shoulder. "I wasn't sure you'd stay for the awkward morning after talk."

"Does the morning after talk have to be awkward?" A smile was pulling at the corner of Clint's mouth, and he allowed it to escape. "We had sex; it was amazing. What's so awkward about that?"

"It was amazing?" Phil asked. The edges of his ears turned pink, and there was a hint of real uncertainty in his voice.

Clint didn't think Phil was the kind of guy who fished for compliments; he really was worried about whether Clint enjoyed himself, so he grinned and said, "You were there, weren't you? If you thought that was me complaining about really bad sex, I'm not sure what to do with that."

Phil lifted an eyebrow. "We could try it again, so I've got a clearer picture."

It was tempting. Really tempting. Clint could feel ghost imprints of Phil's fingers digging into his hips, and the idea of feeling that for real again was...tempting.

"I can't," he said reluctantly. "Trust me, I want to."

"But?"

"It's Saturday," he said. "I make smiley faced chocolate chip pancakes for Sophie on Saturdays. It's kind of a thing for us." The disappointment on Phil's face tugged at something deep in Clint's chest. It surprised him, that tight feeling, and he was speaking again before he could think about whether it was a good idea or not. "You could come with me. Meet Meg and Sophie. I'll make you smiley faced pancakes of your own."

He closed his mouth on more words so fast that his teeth clicked together. A part of him liked the mental image of sitting in a booth in the diner, watching Phil and Sophie eat pancakes while Meg slumped against him and complained about the weekend staff. It would be kind of...nice. Family-ish.

Except he'd only known Phil for a few days, and this was moving too fast. Breakfast with the family was an important step in a relationship, and they didn't have one of those yet. They were just two guys who'd worked together on something and had great chemistry.

Clint repeated that to himself twice, while Phil stared up at him with an expression he couldn't interpret.

"Forget I said that," Clint said eventually. "It was a bad idea. You've got shit to do around here, and the whole meet the family routine is kind of crazy when you're leaving tomorrow."

"If you're sure," Phil said slowly.

Clint shrugged. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

He stretched up and grabbed the mugs of coffee, which were still steaming slightly. Phil's eyes lit up at the sight of his caffeine source, and he sat up quickly. The covers slipped down to pool around his waist, exposing the chest Clint had spent a long time exploring with his mouth and fingers last night. A jolt of heat shot through Clint's body, pooling low in his gut.

He checked his watch.

"You know," he said slowly, "I can probably stay for another half hour. It's still early, and Sophie's a dawdler in the morning."

Phil lifted an eyebrow and studied him for a long moment over the rim of his mug. "Half an hour?"

"Forty-five minutes," Clint amended. "Unless you've got chores that need to start right away?"

"I can probably put things off for a while," Phil said. "Forty-five minutes, maybe."

Clint dumped his mug on the overhead shelf and began pulling off the borrowed hoodie. "Great."

"Can I finish my coffee first?"

"Drink fast."

***

Somehow, the day ran away from him, and Clint didn't get back to the circus grounds until late. Meg seemed to have endless questions about the menus and orders for the next few weeks, far more than normal, and he hadn't even started figuring out what they'd do for the town harvest festival at the end of August yet. They didn't start planning that until July, normally, but Meg seemed to have a thing about it, and she wanted it done that day.

So he spent the whole day in the diner, huddled in a booth with the order forms and menus. He would have been even later hauling ass over to the grounds if Sophie hadn't gotten bored and announced she was hungry, forcing him to look up and notice the time at last.

He barely stopped long enough to kiss the top of Sophie's head, before running out and jumping in the car. Thankfully, he'd thrown the bag with his costume in the trunk when he left in the morning, so he didn't need to stop at home for it. Even with that timesaver, he still only got to the circus grounds a few minutes before the first act was due to start. He parked next to Natasha's tent and scrambled out, barely remembering to lock the car.

For a moment, he hesitated outside the door. Should he head over to Phil's trailer to change, or would that imply he was reading more into their relationship than Phil wanted?

Clint squared his shoulders and scratched at the tent wall, ducking inside as soon as Natasha called out.

"Sorry I'm so late," he said quickly, starting to pull his t-shirt over his head.

"I wasn't worried," Natasha said. "I knew you'd turn up eventually. It's Phil who's probably pacing a hole outside his trailer. Maybe you should let him know you're here?"

Clint paused with his shirt half over his face. "He's worried? Shit. Fuck. Damn."

The shirt suddenly seemed to be too tight and it got stuck on his ears. When he finally yanked it off, Natasha was standing by the door to her wagon, arms crossed over her chest and a hint of an amused smile curving her lips.

"Finish changing now that you're shirtless," she said. "Then you can go and talk him down."

He yanked at his fly and cursed as the buttons refused to obey him. "I'm out of practice at this."

"At stripping? I don't know, you seemed to have the hang of it last night, from what I've heard." Natasha smiled wickedly. "Or are you talking about being in the ring? Because you didn't seem rusty at that last night, either."

"You watched us?" Clint said, as he finally managed to push down his jeans and nearly took his briefs with them. He quickly tugged them back into place, and pretended not to hear Natasha's quiet snicker.

"I watched you," she said. "You work well together. I haven't seen him performing that well in front of an audience...ever. It was a good routine. You got the loudest applause of the night."

"Home crowd advantage."

"Maybe, but I don't think that was all of it. You guys work well together. You should keep doing that."

Clint looked up from buttoning his sparkling shirt. "Natasha..."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Clint."

"You know why I left."

"I supported you when you left," she said. "You left to do something good. But that was then, and you've spent the last year telling me how well Meg is doing. It doesn't sound like she needs you the way she did back then."

"Maybe not, but--"

"Tell me you don't miss it. Tell me you didn't love being back out there last night, and I'll never talk to you about this again."

Clint crouched to carefully lace his boots. He'd need to buy new ones, something with more sparkle, if he stayed.

"That's what I thought," Natasha said softly. "There's a place for you here, if you want it. With some more work, you and Phil could do something really special out in the ring. I haven't had a real star act since you left; you know that. Just...think about it. Please?"

The thought had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since the circus rolled into town on Tuesday. Clint couldn't pretend that it hadn't, not to himself, anyway. He missed the travel, the thrill of performing and feeling the audience respond to him.

The family that he'd built in the circus.

If he was completely honest, he'd felt the tug to follow them every time they left, getting stronger each year.

But there was Meg. And Sophie, who still asked for smiley faced chocolate chip pancakes, and spent the day drawing pictures for him. Yeah, all the pictures had been of him flying around the circus ring on ropes with his bow, with Phil and his knives below, but she'd still spent the day drawing pictures for him. Was it fair to leave her?

Was he being fair to himself if he stayed?

"I have to go," Natasha said. "Put some glitter on and go see Phil, before he paces himself into a hole, okay?"

She squeezed his shoulder as she passed him, and then he was alone. Standing up seemed like far too much work, so he allowed himself to tip backward and sit on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees. After a couple of minutes, the brassy notes of Natasha's opening act floated across the circus grounds. It was the same music she'd been using for years. Since the first night she'd appeared as ring master, actually.

They'd flipped for it when they bought out the old owner. Natasha lost and had to wear the ring master suit. Clint got away lightly, all things considered, although she'd passed most of the people managing off to him until he left.

If he came back, he technically still owned half the circus. They'd never discussed it, not in the last six years, but Clint thought she'd always hoped he would come back. That was why she'd never offered to buy him out and make his split from the circus permanent.

Then again, Meg had never offered to let him buy into the diner. He'd helped her figure out all the loans and credit she needed, got the business back in the black, but they'd never discussed him investing.

Clint rested his chin on his knees. When he'd left, he'd said that it was forever. There were new responsibilities he'd taken on. He couldn't spend half his time thinking about what he'd given up and planning ways to get back there. Except, if he'd really meant that, wouldn't he have given up his half of the circus already?

Every time he tried to reason it out, his mind kept going back to one place: Meg and Sophie. They'd already had one Barton brother walk out on them. Was it fair to do that again?

In the back of his mind, he was keeping track of the tunes drifting from the big top and what they cued. The music for the clown act before Phil was due on started up, and Clint pulled himself out of his introspection. Eyeliner and glitter gel were lying on Natasha's desk, where she'd clearly been doing her own makeup, and he took a minute to put it on before hurrying out. Natasha always knew what was right for him, as far as his costume went, anyway.

As predicted, Phil was trying to wear a hole in the grass outside the dressing tent by the time Clint found him. The look of relief on his face when he saw Clint was almost comical, and the urge to pull him into a hard kiss almost overwhelmed Clint for a moment.

"Were you worried I wouldn't show?" Clint asked.

Phil hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. "A little. I haven't seen you all day. I thought you might want to run through the act this afternoon, but then..." He shrugged. "Natasha told me not to worry."

"But you did anyway." Clint forced himself to grin. "Meg wanted to go over the next three months of menus and orders. I couldn't get away."

"Oh." Phil glanced at the big top, and Clint could see the tension pulling his shoulders up. "We're on in a minute."

"Yeah." Clint could feel his mental clock ticking down again. "I'm sorry I worried you. Let me make it up to you. Want me to try that stage fright distraction technique again?"

"If it's not too much of an imposition." 

Phil's voice was dry, but there was a hint of teasing lurking underneath. It was probably a sign of something that Clint could interpret it so easily already. He cupped Phil's jaw between his hands and kissed him, lingering for as long as he dared, and finishing by gently sucking on Phil's lower lip.

Phil's eyes had drifted closed, and he looked dazed when he slowly opened them. He licked his lips, as if he was trying to keep Clint's taste in his mouth for a moment longer, and the sight made Clint's chest tighten. It was such a tiny, intimate gesture. It shouldn't have made his heart race or his entire body feel warm.

"We should go in," Phil said quietly.

Clint nodded. "Yeah. We should."

But they stayed where they were for a moment longer, bodies pressed together, and the clowns were already out of the ring by the time they hurried inside the dressing tent.

***

The audience felt even more alive than last night. The thrill of it was still singing in his veins when Clint followed the other circus folk out into the night afterward, and even the chilly air on his face couldn't dull it. He felt like he could have done it all again, the energy was buzzing so thickly through his body.

Phil's familiar hand reaching for him seemed exactly right and perfect, and he allowed himself to be tugged to the side into the shadows. The excitement must have been thrumming in Phil's blood as well, because he kissed Clint as soon as they were out of the path of the chattering performers. Clint responded eagerly, kissing and nipping at his lips, slipping his hands under Phil's jacket to feel the muscles twitching through the thin fabric of his shirt. They kissed until everyone had gone, until even the last stragglers from the audience had driven away, and Clint could happily have carried on until morning. The kiss steadied and grounded him, replacing the fire bright thrill of performing with something both hotter and less urgent.

Deeper, pooling somewhere low in his gut and warming his body in a different way. He rocked against Phil, felt him push closer in response, and broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Phil's neck. He smelled of cinnamon and clean sweat, and Clint tried to memorise the scent as he breathed it in.

"My trailer?" Phil whispered.

Warm air tickled his ear and Clint shivered, feeling his whole body respond to the promise in Phil's voice. He pushed his nose into Phil's collar more firmly for a moment, before reluctantly straightening up.

"I can't," he said. He could feel Phil's body go rigid against him, and he almost leaned in for another kiss to reassure him. "It's not that I don't want to, I'm just...I've got some things I'm thinking through. And if I go back to your trailer, I won't think about them. Not until it's too late, anyway, and I kind of think this is important."

Some of the tension bled away, but Phil's muscles still didn't feel as relaxed as they had a moment ago. "I can understand that, I think."

Clint took a careful breath before asking, "Would you want to keep this thing we're doing going, if we could?"

Phil's fingers twitched against his hips. "Are we talking about the performance thing, or the rest of it?"

"All of it." Clint took a step back, pulling Phil out of the shadows so he could see Phil's face. Glitter shone in the moonlight on his jaw and in his hair, where it had transferred from Clint. He really liked the way it looked. "If I didn't stay behind this time, would you want to keep doing this? See if it could go somewhere?"

There was no way to guess what Phil was thinking; his face was too blank, too controlled for that. His eyes roamed over Clint's face for a long moment, though, and his lips twitched when he finished. "You shouldn't come back to the circus for me, but if you did stay...yes. Yes, I would like to see if this could go somewhere. All of it, the performing and everything else."

Clint released a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. "I'll hold you to that."

"I'd like that," Phil said, with a hint of a smile.

Clint brushed his lips over Phil's gently, barely firm enough to be called a kiss, and he slipped away.

****

Clint sat on the steps of his trailer, a fresh cup of coffee warming his hands. The air held a hint of a chill, even though it was June, but between the coffee and the sweater he'd thrown on over his costume, he was comfortable. It was easier to think when the air was cool and silent.

He tipped his head back to stare at the sky. The glow from an entire town's streetlights hid most of the stars except for the brightest, but he could trace a few familiar old friends. He'd always liked the nights on the road when they'd camped outside town, and he could look up and see all the stars flickering overhead. Natasha used to point out constellations and tell him old Russian stories about them. They were all filled with violence and death, and he thought half of them were made up, but they had always been warm and happy in his memories of those nights.

He could remember the cold, miserable nights, but somehow the happier ones had always made those worth dealing with.

And then there had been that high, that thrill of performing in front of hundreds of people. Flying through the air on ropes, proving night after night that he could hit anything they dared him to try.

Working with Phil had reawakened those memories, but somehow it was even better when he had a partner to play against. Someone who could match every trick he thought up; who could make him more creative, just by being there, and challenging him to find something harder to try.

Clint wasn't surprised when a light turned on in the kitchen. He'd been half expecting it since he got back, so he shuffled to the side and Meg slotted herself into the space next to him a couple of minutes later. She had a mug of her own, and he smelled peppermint.

"I didn't think we'd see you until tomorrow," she said quietly, after a while.

"Where did you think I'd be?"

She just looked at him, and he felt heat crawl up his neck. "Oh."

"So what happened?"

"I drove around some," he said. "Then I came home."

"Why?"

"I needed to think."

"Oh."

There was another long silence. Clint slowly drank his coffee, even though it was barely warm anymore.

"I was expecting you to leave last year," Meg said eventually.

Clint turned to look at her, but all he could see was the top of her head. The rest of her face was hidden by her hair. "You expected me to leave?"

Meg's voice sounded amused. "I knew it would happen eventually. Last year, you looked so lonely when the circus left. I spent most of the summer waiting for you to pack up and chase after them."

"You did?"

"Jeez, Clint, do you ever actually stop to think about your feelings at all?"

"No?" Clint shrugged. "Usually thinking about feelings gives me a headache. Or I fuck everything up."

"Yeah, I've noticed that about you." 

She nudged his shoulder, and he shoved her back. It was comfortable, just like everything was always comfortable with Meg. Comfortable and easy, and he didn't have to think about how he felt because that was how their friendship worked.

"I don't want to do what Barney did," he said, after another pause. "I'm the Barton who stayed."

"I'm not that scared, broke kid with a baby I don't know what to do with," she said. "Not anymore. I don't need a Barton making everything better now. You've done it; you got me to a better place. You did good, Clint."

"So you want me to go?"

"I think it's time."

"What about Sophie? Won't walking out on her mess her up in some way?"

Meg chuckled. "She was disappointed she couldn't tell everyone her uncle ran away to join a circus last year."

"Aw, Meg, be serious." Clint leaned forward, trying to peek around her hair so he could see her face. "Sophie's a kid. Kids need their family."

He felt Meg sigh, in the lift of her shoulder against his.

"She'll miss you," Meg said. "Of course she'll miss you. But you'll have a phone and you'll be back here every now and then. The circus came back while you were living here. I can't see you letting them stop that tradition, not when you've got people to visit with." 

"I'll make sure we stop for a full week whenever we're here," he promised. "It's good for us to have somewhere we can rest for a while."

"See, you're already mostly back to being a part of them," Meg said. "It was always going to happen one day."

"I guess it was.

"And today's that day." She straightened up and tucked her hair behind her ear. There was a suspicious dampness to her eyes, but she was smiling. "You should get over there now. Make sure they don't leave without you tomorrow morning."

"It's after midnight," Clint said. "Your neighbours won't be happy if I'm moving around out here at this time of night."

"They can live with it this once," Meg said. "I'll bring Sophie over tomorrow morning to say goodbye. It'll give me a chance to meet your knife thrower."

Clint's face felt too hot again. "He's not my anything."

Meg snorted. "There you go, trying to pretend your feelings aren't happening again. What is wrong with boys and their feelings?"

He stood up, valiantly trying to pretend she wasn't laughing at him. "Help me get this thing ready to move, then, if you're so eager to get me out of your yard."

It didn't take long to disconnect the trailer from the electricity. They'd never bothered to install the hook-ups for water and sewage; he'd always had a key to the house. It was probably another one of those signs that this hadn't been a permanent arrangement for either of them. If it had been, he wouldn't still be living in his trailer. He'd have sold it and moved into an apartment years ago.

The trailer was really more of a big RV than the kind of tiny box pulled by a truck that Phil lived in. Clint had always kept it tidy inside: everything had its place and nothing was left lying around to fall off tables if he had to move in a hurry. Meg cleaned his coffee cup while he started the engine, and he put it away while he waited for the engine to warm up. He'd been taking the trailer out for a drive every now and then, just to make sure she ran well, which was probably another sign that he hadn't settled completely.

Meg tugged him down to kiss his cheek before shooing him into the cab. He started to shift gears, but hesitated. A moment later, he threw down his car keys.

"What is this?" Meg asked.

"I don't need it anymore," Clint said. "Can't exactly tow it along behind me. Natasha still has my bike somewhere, if I need to ride around without this thing. You and Sophie need the car more than I do now."

"I'll bring her out tomorrow," Meg said. "Early."

"We won't leave before you get there."

"I know you won't."

He sketched a quick salute, put the trailer in gear, and carefully drove out of Meg's backyard and away.

***

The circus grounds were silent and dark when Clint arrived. He debated with himself for a minute, before parking next to Phil's trailer.

When he knocked at Phil's door, the sound seemed to echo loudly around the field. He wondered how many people he'd woken up, but then the door opened and he didn't care anymore.

Phil was standing there wearing plaid pyjama pants and nothing else. His hair was mussed from sleep and he'd put on those thick-rimmed glasses again. A surge of heat and affection slammed through Clint, so tangled up together that he thought maybe he should give the feelings another name. Maybe he was starting to fall a little in love, just standing there on the step, looking at Phil.

"Hi," he said.

Phil peered over his shoulder, eyes widening. "Hello."

"So I talked to Meg," Clint said. "She told me that I was being an idiot. I mean, she didn't use those exact words, but I can read between the lines."

"I don't doubt it," Phil said.

"So here I am," Clint said. "Just kind of...checking in. Seeing whether you'd still like to keep this thing we're doing going, now that I'm back on the road."

Phil cocked his head. "That's a very large trailer."

"Yup," Clint said. "Before you say anything, it's not compensating. Not for anything."

"I wasn't going to suggest it." A sly smile curved Phil's lips. "I know you don't need to compensate for anything."

Clint grinned. "I hoped you'd noticed."

"I definitely did."

"It's a comfortable trailer," Clint said. "Better than the sardine can you're living in. Not that I think we should move in together right away like some bad gay cliché or anything! But if you wanted to spend the night sometimes. Maybe the rest of this night. I'm just saying, it's comfortable."

Phil seemed to consider it for a long moment. The corners of his eyes were crinkling, though, so Clint knew it was going to be fine.

He didn't expect Phil to step down so they were level, and draw him into a kiss that made his toes curl. That was unexpected, and fantastic, and better than anything he'd hoped for. He wrapped his arms around Phil, running a hand over the skin of Phil's warm, naked back, and kissed him back with everything he had.

A while later, Phil pulled back. "Does your offer include coffee in the morning?"

"Shitty, awful, burnt coffee from the communal urn, yes," Clint said. "Is that a deal breaker?"

"I can live with that," Phil said. "Show me this very comfortable trailer you plan to debauch me in regularly."

"Did I mention sex?" Clint said, nipping lightly at Phil's jaw, which made him gasp beautifully. "I could have just been offering you a comfortable bed for some platonic...something. Talking about new tricks, or...uh...cuddling?"

Phil raised an eyebrow, which yeah, definitely didn't leave Clint thinking about platonic anything. "Really?"

"Maybe not," Clint said. "Although those options are on the table, too. Later."

"We can discuss tables another day," Phil said. "I'm more interested in beds tonight."

Clint grinned and led the way. He was going back to his old life and starting a new one all at once, and there was a guy he was maybe falling a little in love with coming along for the ride. Even standing in the circus ring had nothing on this feeling.


End file.
